POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WILLIAM

TYTLER,

WITH THE PRESENT OF THE BARD'S PICTURE.*

EVERED defender of beauteous Stuart,
Of Stuart, a name once respected,
A name, which to love, was the mark
of a true heart,

But now 'tis despis'd and neglected.

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, Let no one misdeem me disloyal;

A poor friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh,
Still more, if that wand'rer were royal.

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne;
My fathers have fallent to right it;
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son,
That name should be scoffingly slight it.

10

Still in prayers for King George I most heartily join, The Queen, and the rest of the gentry,

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine; Their title's avow'd by my country.

* Mr. Tytler, besides other works, was the author of an elegant and elaborate, if not successful, defence of the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots. His son, Lord Woodhouselee, was distinguished in literature as well as law; and Mr. Patrick Fraser Tytler, Lord Woodhouselee's grandson, has well sustained the literary fame of his family, in the third generation, by his "History of Scotland," and other valuable publications.

"died," in Burns' hand, and altered apparently by Lord Woodhouselee.

But why of this epocha make such a fuss,
That gave us the Hanover* stem.

If bringing them over was lucky for us,
I'm sure 'twas as lucky for them.

But, loyalty, truce! we're on dangerous ground,
Who knows how the fashions may alter?
The doctrine, to-day, that is loyalty sound,
To-morrow may bring us a halter.

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard,
A trifle scarce worthy your care;

But accept it, good Sir, as a mark of regard,
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer.

Now life's chilly evening dim shades in your eye,
And ushers the long dreary night;

But

you like the star that athwart gilds the sky, Your course to the latest is bright.

20

30

SKETCH-NEW-YEAR DAY.†

TO MRS. DUNLOP.

HIS Day Time winds th' exhausted
chain,

To run the twelvemonth's length again:
I see the old, bald-pated fellow,

With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,

* Burns wrote "Electoral," but Lord W. altered it to "Hanover."

This Sketch is descriptive of the family of Burns' venerable friend Mrs. Dunlop, of Dunlop. On a copy in the

Adjust the unimpair'd machine
To wheel the equal, dull routine.
The absent lover, minor heir,

In vain assail him with their prayer,
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press,
Nor makes the hour one moment less.
Will you (the Major's* with the hounds,
The happy tenants share his rounds;
Coila's fair Rachel'st care to-day,

And blooming Keith's engaged with Gray)
From housewife cares a minute borrow-

-That grandchild's cap will make to-morrow-
And join with me a moralizing,

This day's propitious to be wise in.

First, what did yesternight deliver? "Another year is gone for ever.”

And what is this day's strong suggestion?
"The passing moment's all we rest on! "
Rest on-for what? what do we here?
Or why regard the passing year?
Will Time, amus'd with proverb'd lore,
Add to our date one minute more?

Poet's hand-writing, with which the verses have been collated, he wrote

"On second thoughts I send you this extempore blotted sketch. It is just the first random scrawl; but if you think the Piece worth while, I shall retouch it and finish it. Tho' I have no copy of it, my memory serves me." It does not appear from this manuscript what year the "Sketch" was written, nor to whom the copy in question was sent. * Major, afterwards General Andrew Dunlop, Mrs. Dunlop's second son. He died, unmarried, in 1804. + Miss Rachel Dunlop, who afterwards married Robert Glasgow, Esq.

Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter.

A few days may, a few years must,
Repose us in the silent dust;
Then is it wise to damp our bliss?
Yes-all such reasonings are amiss!
The voice of Nature loudly cries,
And many a message from the skies,
That something in us never dies;
That on this frail, uncertain state
Hang matters of eternal weight;
That future-life in worlds unknown
Must take its hue from this alone;
Whether as Heavenly glory bright,
Or dark as Misery's woful night.-

Since then, my honor'd, first of friends,
On this poor being all depends;
Let us th' important Now employ,
And live as those that never die.

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'd,
Witness that filial circle round,
(A sight life's sorrows to repulse;
A sight pale Envy to convulse ;)
Others may claim your chief regard;
Yourself, you wait your bright reward.

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40

EXTEMPORE, ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE,

AUTHOR OF THE PHILOSOPHY OF NATURAL HISTORY, AND MEMBER OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH.

HREWD Willie Smellie to Crochallan

came,

*

The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout,

the same;

His bristling beard just rising in its might,
"Twas four long nights and days to shaving night;
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch'd
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd:
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude,
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good.

INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR

TO INDEPENDENCE, AT KERROUGHTRY, SEAT OF MR. HERON.-WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 1795.

HOU of an independent mind,

With soul resolv'd, with soul resign'd;
Prepar'd Power's proudest frown to
brave,

Who wilt not be, nor have a slave;
Virtue alone who dost revere,

Thy own reproach alone dost fear,

Approach this shrine, and worship here.

The Poet and Mr. Smellie were members of a club in Edinburgh, called the Crochallan Fencibles.